


What Doesn't Kill You

by astraafterdark



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Temporary Character Death, Caught in the Act, Established Relationship, Fake Blood, Fake Character Death, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Some Humor, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraafterdark/pseuds/astraafterdark
Summary: In which Akira is caught in a gruesome-looking relaxation ritual recontextualizing his memories of 11/20.Or, what doesn't kill you gives you a fucked up sense of humor and some really bizarre coping mechanisms.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 76





	What Doesn't Kill You

Akira's heart raced as he slipped into the bathroom, muscles tense, body aching. In a rush, he shut the door behind him and placed the costume store bag he carried on the floor next to the bathtub. His hands shook as he pulled out a large bottle of fake blood and turned it over in his hands, hesitant, nearly dropping it as his anxiety about committing to cleanup time or being caught collided with his desperate need for the most intense, _immersive_ relief possible after the stress of his work day.

He set the bottle down and wondered if his habit of leaning on this recontextualized memory was a bad idea in the long run, but in the moment, his nerves were too shot to let him care, and the mental replay had already begun. Already, he could feel the suits' hands all over him, as if he was being manhandled, beaten, thrown across the room all over again. He stripped his clothes off and cast them aside, and in his mind, the bathroom vanished, replaced with a blur of cold, dark concrete walls that he could barely tell apart from the ceiling and floor in his disorientation. When they first happened, those sights and sounds and sensations were horrific, nauseating, a living nightmare, but through the filter of memory they became _thrilling_.

He took the bottle with him into the bathtub and sat down, the sound of the glass door sliding closed and the feeling of cold porcelain against his bare skin only deepening his immersion into the atmosphere of that room. His eyes closed as he opened the bottle and splashed some fake blood into his hands. With the next blow he felt in the blurry mess of limbs replaying in his mind, he grabbed the spot that was hit – this time the side of his rib cage – and let his fingers trace across the ghost of a bruise left there, staining his skin red just like the cuts and scrapes he received. He repeated the same process with every impact replaying in his mind, covering his skin in artificial scrapes and bruises, feeling the heat grow within him with each one. His eyes opened and he looked down at himself, at his “wounds”, admiring the light pink “scrapes” and the “deeper” dripping “cuts”.

 _'God, I look like hell.'_ The thought brought a peaceful smile to his face as his hands wandered down to his tingling cock, and he grabbed the shaft but just teased himself with nearly motionless contact as what little he remembered of the gentler but _tedious_ interrogation played out in his mind, and he focused on the feeling of those few larger droplets of fake blood running down his body as that tedium turned to growing tension about what was to come.

He heard a door click closed, and his heart began to race again. Now came the memory of that terrifying question of what came next – a tension that was only enhanced by the fact that he now knew the answer. Slowly, he began to run his hand up and down his length, stopping to play with the tip as he replayed the click of the door as it opened.

In his memory, this moment meant either freedom or ruin. In the present day, he knew that _somehow_ it was both.

Two figures entered. A muffled gunshot rang out. One figure remained.

One... _unspeakably_ beautiful figure. One he knew was going to be his downfall – and he would _thank_ him for it. His rubbing became more and more frantic with each breath he took as the tingling began to spread through the rest of his body, making his false wounds feel strangely, somehow _refreshingly_ real where the cold air met the wet fake blood.

“ _I owe you for all of this this...thanks. That's right – you and your little friends were vital to our plan. And now, it will be completed. Your popularity truly was quite stunning.”_ Those words reverberated in his head, sending shivers down his spine, and in his memory he wanted to speak but no words would come out. Immersed in that moment, all he could do was continue to stroke himself, feeling the tension build, bringing him closer and closer to climax.

“ _That just made using you all the more worthwhile...”_ That line was enough to send a wave of electricity through his entire body.

Even in the memory he knew what came next, and the tension dragged every second out for what felt like an hour. _It was coming._ The Akechi in his memory adjusted his gloves, and the Akira in the present took the bottle of fake blood in his hand as his breathing grew erratic and caught in his throat, both for arousal now and for terrified anticipation in his memory.

“ _Have you finally pieced it all together?”_

The vision of Akechi stepped closer, he felt cold steel touch his forehead and the smell of gunpowder stung his nose as it intensified, and his heart pounded so hard that if he'd been present enough he might have worried about the real Akechi hearing the noise of it alone.

“ _Case closed...this is how your 'justice' ends.”_

And as the _**BANG** _ rang out in his head, he held the bottle at arm's length and poured the fake blood onto his forehead, reveling in the feeling of the impact and awakening the memory of the brief but intense pain. In that moment his muscles clenched and he lurched forward, eyes going wide, as he was taken by a powerful orgasm, and he came hard enough to hit himself in the face as he watched the sickly red liquid pouring from his body, splashing between his legs and pooling on the white porcelain. He gasped, but his vocal cords never engaged, he didn't cry or moan – _dead men don't moan, after all._

As it passed, his muscles relaxed until his body went limp, and he slid down the side of the tub. The pain was the first thing to fade as his senses shut down in his memory. Next was his vision, as his eyes fell shut again in the present, then the smell of gunpowder disappeared. The last memory he was left with, as he meditated on the feeling of the fake blood running down his body, dripping from his face, covering his hair, was of Akechi's hand touching his as he planted the gun.

From there, the scene went dark and silent.

And as he lay absorbed in the peaceful feeling of oblivion, he was jolted back to life by a piercing scream, as Akechi had walked into the bathroom and reacted exactly the way one would be expected to upon seeing ominous streaks of thick red liquid running down the inside of the shower door and opening it to find their fiance lying naked in the bathtub, motionless, covered in what looked very much like real blood, cock in hand. Akira reacted in kind – screaming, scrambling to get up, slipping on the mess in the tub and ungracefully tumbling over the side onto the floor, and landing face down, ass in the air, before slipping and sliding his way onto his knees.

“I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry – I didn't mean to scare you, I'm fine, look, everything is fine! It's fake! I'm fine! I promise!” Akira blurted, as his hands darted back and forth, physically following his internal debate over whether Akechi would find it more comforting or disgusting if he grabbed his hand or hugged him in the state he was in.

“What are you – why were you – WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” Akechi stammered, leaning against the counter to steady himself from the shock.

“Lots of things; do you want me to go chronologically or alphabetically?”

Akechi's icy glare was all Akira needed to know that his attempt at lightening up the situation had failed. He glanced down at the stained bathmat he knelt on, as drops of fake blood continued to roll off his body and onto the floor, jaw clenched as he tried to figure out exactly how to explain himself short of just plain blurting out _“I was cranking my hog to the thought of you murdering me”_.

“L-look, it was a long day – I know it's weird, but this helps me relax, and I didn't think you'd walk in before I cleaned up – I didn't think you _could_ , I thought I'd locked the door! That's all – I'm sorry I scared you, you weren't even supposed to _know_ about it,” was what he settled on.

“I figured as much just by looking at your _face_ , but what I can't figure out is what _this_ is in the first place. Until you screamed too, I thought you'd gone and killed yourself!” Akechi hissed. Without thinking, Akira raised a hand to touch his face and felt the streak of cum across his cheek, and the flushing he felt behind the covering of fake blood intensified, forcing him to avert his gaze even further in shame.

“I'm sorry, I _really_ didn't mean to scare you, this is just – it's _nothing_ important! I'll try really hard not to let you _see_ this again, just, _seriously_ , I think you'll be a lot happier if you just...accept my weird little relaxation ritual as a Thing, and let it go.”

“Why don't you let me decide that for myself?” Akechi's glare sharpened, and Akira could feel it pierce through him even as he fought to avoid meeting his gaze.

“I...well...I kind of...”

“Go on...”

Akira mumbled something under his breath, his tightly clenched fists shaking as he fought to spit out the words at all, hyperaware of the feeling of every drop of fake blood running down his face and his back and his arms as the tension put every fiber of his being on high alert.

“ _Out loud_ , please,” Akechi hissed.

“I was trying to relive the time you shot me!” Akira blurted, and he lunged forward to hug Akechi around the waist, tears of shame streaming down his face. Akechi stiffened – he wanted to step back, to push Akira off, to get this _disgusting mess off of him_ , but he was too shocked to move. _That moment_ played back in his head, blurred by repression like a video tape that had been left underwater for 3 years, the sensations and smells mostly intact but the sights and sounds amounting to nothing but shapes and colors and garbled nonsense.

The response he wanted to give was only one word, but even that wouldn't come out. All he could do was sit there and choke out nonsense syllables as Akira's grip on his waist tightened.

“I told you you wouldn't want to know, I told you I knew it was weird – I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't break up with me over this, I know how much remembering it hurts you, it's why I didn't want to tell you, it's why I didn't want you to see, I'm sorry – I'm okay, I promise I'm okay, so let's just...try and forget this ever happened? Please?”

Akira's pleading snapped Akechi out of his daze and he was finally able to step back and look down in disgust at the mess left on his clothes. That one-word question was still at the front of his mind, even more so now as he saw this, but as much as he wanted to know, he knew he wasn't ready for the answer.

“...just go clean up. Both yourself, _and_ this room – and...” Akechi started, as he carefully stepped out of his pants and threw his coat at the hamper, “I _hope_ it goes without saying that you're on laundry duty tonight, too.”

* * *

The next two days were awkwardly quiet and tense. The two could barely look each other in the face. Akira tried to forget, but that look of disgust in Akechi's eyes that night was burned into his mind as he waited anxiously for the moment he'd be told that everything was ruined, that Akechi could only see him as a perverted freak who got off on his loved ones' trauma-

Meanwhile, the idea that this strange ritual could _help Akira relax_ gnawed at Akechi's mind even as he tried to stop thinking about it to keep the flashbacks at bay, because he knew that knowing _how_ exactly this played out in Akira's mind was undoubtedly going to make him feel either a lot better about that day...or a lot worse.

But what definitely _was_ making it worse, he realized, was _wondering_.

That evening, the two sat down on the couch to relax after dinner, as they usually did. The sun was still bright at this time of day, this time of year, filtering in through semi-sheer white curtains – usually setting a peaceful scene, but now feeling like the world itself was putting them in the hot seat as the silence resounded through the room, making their cozy first home together feel as cold and impersonal as that interrogation room.

Unable to take it anymore, Akechi broke the awkward silence.

“Akira...I know we're both trying to forget the other night ever happened, but I don't think it's exactly going to be easy for us to just let it go without talking about it. You're clearly not over it. I'm still confused as to what I even witnessed in the first place. So, now that we have a moment where it's...at least not going to be any more awkward than it has to be, shall we try and get past this?”

Akira shrunk inward on himself a little and began to press himself into the arm of the couch, but kept his head turned intently toward Akechi. “I don't know what to say,” he mumbled, and the ensuing silence in the room, already deafening, took its place in Akira's list of the top 10 loudest things he'd ever experienced. Still, despite all the tension in the air, the fact that this didn't sound like the beginning of a breakup conversation brought him some sense of hope, even if he was at a loss for what to do with it.

“Well, I want to just ask _why_ , but I don't imagine anything that broad will get any answers, so...why don't you start by telling me how long you've been doing...that?”

“Started a few days after...it happened. Not as, uh, elaborate as what you saw, the fake blood is a pretty new addition, and I only use it when the stress is _really_ bad but...yeah.” Akira's voice was soft and low, and his eyes were cast downward at the floor again, and all he could think was _'well, at least I'm not dripping that 'blood' everywhere this time.'_

“How did it start, exactly?”

“It just kind of...happened, one night when I was really excited about getting into Shido's Palace, and I guess my brain kinda ran with that, to a... _different_ kind of _excitement_ , because, well, the next thing I knew I was remembering everything that happened in that interrogation room and...for some reason I...started getting hard – especially when I thought about you showing up.” Akira pulled his knees toward his chest and sunk back further into his seat, and Akechi's eyes went wide.

“Akira, how much do you remember of what happened in there?” Akechi asked, his voice dipping with concern. “Do you...actually remember me being there?”

“I do remember it – somehow. I'm not sure how, but I remember it. The whole thing is kind of a mess – there are a lot of big parts that are really fuzzy, but a lot of tiny details that are eerily clear, and...for some reason I remember you being there, and...everything that happened then.”

Akechi gave a quiet gasp and turned away as the feelings of guilt over that day hit him like a brick to the face, and Akira released himself from the tiny ball he was in and leaned over to Akechi's side of the couch, taking his hand.

“The thing is, you're going to think I'm out of my mind for this – and maybe you're right – but I've always found that part...kind of nice. Not just in terms of...what you saw the other night, but just in general.”

Akechi raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious, or are you just saying that because you think I want to hear it?”

“I'm serious, Goro!” Akira cried as he tightened his grip on Akechi's hand. “I know it's weird, but my brain _loves_ to process things like that weirdly when they happen when I still have things to do. I doubt the drugs made it any more _normal_ either. So, from where I sit...I was hurt, beaten, sick from the drugs, physically and mentally exhausted, soaking wet, freezing yet feeling like I was in a sauna in this tiny bubble of muggy air from the water evaporating from my body heat; everything that got me in this state had carried on for hours and hours, even before I had to fight the disorientation from the drugs to try to explain to Sae, to plead for her help – and then, after she left, I was alone. Alone, to just sit in silence with the pain, with the cold, with the muggy air and wet clothes down to my socks and underwear, for god knows how long...”

Akechi flinched away, and his breath caught in his throat. Then, Akira's hand cupped the side of Akechi's face and gently guided him to look at him-

“And then I saw you.”

The first thing that Akechi noticed in this moment was that despite the way Akira guided him, Akira still couldn't bring himself to make eye contact. Instead, Akira's face was bright red, and his gaze was cast down and away.

A quick glance down, and Akechi could see why – just for talking about this, Akira's pants were bulging at the fly.

“You, a familiar face, my sworn rival, my... _beloved_ nemesis,” Akira continued, a mischievous smirk beginning to spread across his face as he tried to face Akechi more directly.

He was finally able to make eye contact when he felt Akechi's hand settle on his inner thigh, and in that moment, he was struck with an idea-

“Go ahead – you can touch me, if you want.”

“H-huh!?” Akechi's head snapped upward and his face flashed bright red. He hadn't even _noticed_ where his hand had ended up until that moment.

“Look, if I can't help but...have this situation, and _you_ can't help but stare – and...possibly do a little more...maybe it'll be good for both of us if you can _feel_ what I feel.” Akira scooted closer and placed his hand over Akechi's, gently guiding it toward his zipper. Akechi went along with it at first, but his hand and arm stiffened before reaching their destination-

Sure, Akira said it was okay, and the idea was appealing – almost distressingly so – but was it okay, _really?_

“What about you – can I touch you too?” Akira added, nodding toward Akechi's own lap, noting that his pants were starting to look tight as well.

Akechi was stunned into silence by the situation he was in. _Were they really doing this?_

Akira leaned forward, his hands meandering toward Akechi's waist – fingers tracing up his thighs, then stopping to tease at the bottom button of his shirt. “Come on,” he said, “let's get comfortable, and I'll finish telling you _exactly_ what it was like for me.”

Akechi leaned forward as Akira continued, unbuttoning his shirt, then slipping it off his shoulders and throwing it aside. _Unbelievable – they_ were _really doing this_. Even more unbelievable, he was _going along_ with it.

More than that, he realized, he might even be _enjoying_ it.

Especially as Akira removed his own shirt, then leaned in closer, trailing his fingers down Akechi's now bare chest and abs. A shiver ran down Akechi's spine as Akira hooked a finger under his waistband and began to tease at releasing the button.

“The moment I saw you there I was taken by this intense horror, but just as much joy – I knew what was coming. I knew I'd lost. You know how I am – just like you toward me, I don't want to lose to you. Especially not when the stakes are my _life_. But, being able to spend my last moments with you – not a bad consolation prize, if I do say so myself.” Akechi looked down and turned away with a soft, pained whimper, and Akira placed his free hand gently on Akechi's cheek.

“Nothing to feel bad for. Like I said, I was happy. I _am_ happy. It was a _relief_ – as I sat there, alone, in the dark, all I could do was _wonder_ what came next. Whether or not the plan had worked. When this pain would stop. When – or _if_ – I'd get out of there. As soon as that door clicked open – even if it wasn't the answer I _thought_ I wanted...I had an answer, and that was already better than where I was. You can relate, can't you? Isn't that why you asked me about this?”

Akechi winced, but his muscles softened enough that just the weight of Akira's hand was enough to guide him to look at him again.

“That relief, and the _intimacy_ of knowing that, sure enough, I was going to spend the _rest of my life_ with you...” Akira began to explain, with a teasing smile, as he slipped a finger under Akechi's waistband. “What more can I even say? Because of that, through all the danger, all the fear, I felt...safe. Satisfied. _Warm_.”

Akechi stammered for a moment, as his hand seemed to be moving of its own accord once again, this time coming to rest directly on top of the bulge in Akira's pants – hot, hard, and throbbing. Akira moved into the touch as he began unfastening the button on Akechi's pants.

“Akira...about what you said before. I don't think you're out of your mind – after hearing this, I _know_ you are,” Akechi hissed, but despite his tone, he continued, now rubbing the front of Akira's pants, hesitantly playing with his zipper.

“I know, so please – go ahead,” Akira said, nodding toward his lap as he noticed that hesitation again. “I want you to. Don't be shy, I want you to _feel_ what this story is to me – and I'm only getting started.”

“This _really_ isn't how I expected this conversation to go,” Akechi said, still only able to bring himself to nervously fidget with the metal tab.

“We don't have to do this if you don't want to.”

“No, I do – at least, I think so.”

“Okay, but if you need to stop, just tell me. I want this to feel good for you. I want this to relax you. I want this to relieve you of any of the pain you still have about that day, because we're both here now, we're both safe, it's nothing but a memory now – a memory that can be whatever we make of it.” With that, Akira took his hand and pressed it to Akechi's own bulge, and popped his pants button open. Akechi gasped and twitched, his skin already tingling all over, the sensation overwhelming his inhibition, and his fingers yet again acted with a mind of their own and unfastened Akira's button and zipper. Akira raised his hips to press into Akechi's hand, his tension intensifying, his tip already slick, precum soaking through the fabric of his underwear.

“Yes, that's good – _fuck_ , you're so good. You're so beautiful, so warm...I was happy to be with you. I always am, and then was no exception, my _cherished_ inevitable downfall...” Akira slipped Akechi's pants and underwear down his hips just enough to free his cock from the fabric, and eagerly wrapped his fingers around the shaft, reveling in the heat that felt like it was almost enough to burn. Akechi twitched, and his breath caught in his throat, as he did the same to Akira and began to stroke him from base to tip, his conscious mind still hesitant, but his body still moving as if of its own accord – and as Akira gasped, Akechi grew increasingly thankful he went along with the impulse.

“And you, as strange as it is to say about being shot in the face, were so _gentle_ – consider, for a moment, everything I'd been through. My ordeal that dragged out for hours and hours; how many, I still don't know – finally ended. You _freed_ me from that darkness, that pain – and unlike them, you did it _quick_.” Akechi's hand stopped and his body grew tense; all he could bring himself to do was nervously rub circles on the tip with his thumb. Akira noticed this shift, this hesitation, and entangled his free hand in Akechi's hair as he continued, his voice shaking as that teasing made it hard for him to keep steady.

“Don't think about what it was to you. Understand what it was to _me_. Let go of that guilt, as much as you can, because we're not done here. I'm alive. _We're_ alive, Goro. After everything we've been through, after all the close calls – we're alive. We're both here. We've made it, and personally? I think that's a great reason to _enjoy_ the bad memories that we made it through, if we can – I know, that's probably more cheesy than it is hot, but it's true,” Akira continued, and he gasped as he pressed his forehead to Akechi's, and stopped rubbing with his whole hand and instead stroked Akechi's length with just his thumb, watching and feeling his every move for a cue to return to his prior intensity. Akechi gripped Akira's cock tighter, as tightly as he could without causing pain, and his small nervous circles expanded to rubbing the head all over. Akira twitched, trying to hold himself together.

“Fuck, Goro, I'm not gonna last much longer, you're amazing – are you ready for me to keep going?”

“Yes – as ready as I think I can be,” Akechi replied, his own voice shaking as he grabbed Akira's arm with his free hand and closed his eyes, _trying_ to focus on Akira's point of view as he was told, and on the warm, comforting feeling of Akira's hands on him – and on the softness of the cushions against his body, and the freshness of the air on his bare, sweaty skin, and the tense, rising heat inside him. Without thinking, he began running his hand up and down Akira's entire length again, stopping at the end of each stroke to fondle the head. That was Akira's cue to begin his full, intense strokes again, which made Akechi let out a gasp. “Please...keep going. Don't stop. _Please_ don't stop.”

“So you understand then – it's funny, those few seconds that it took you to do it _felt_ like they lasted so much longer, but this time not for pain; it was _thrilling_. The end was coming, or so I thought, and here I was spending it with you, who I love so much; you came up close, put the gun to my head, and then there was no more torture, just the loud _**CRACK**_ , and the pain was so intense, but-” Akira gasped and shifted, trying to hold himself off just a little longer as his body tried to reach his climax on that cue. “But all the pain was the first thing to fade. Then my vision went dark, then I stopped smelling the blood and gunpowder; the last thing I remember was your hand on mine, that sweet touch, the _best_ final memory I could imagine before everything went peacefully dark, and...”

He paused for a beat and gave Akechi a few especially long, thorough strokes.

“The next thing I knew was the smell and taste of cool, fresh air. Then I heard some music on the radio, and I opened my eyes to see I was in the back seat of Sae's car – and I realized that despite what I somehow saw, the plan _worked_. I was okay, and if I was okay, I still had a chance to _see you again_ -”

In a span of seconds, Akechi's shaky breaths grew into louder, vocal gasps, then moans that bordered on screams as he came, his cum spurting across both of their arms and legs, even as a tear ran down his cheek. That sound alone was enough to push Akira over the edge himself and he pressed their foreheads together tighter still as his own moans echoed through the room, no longer silenced by his illusion of death.

The two leaned closer into each other and let their weight sink into the couch, silent save for the sound of panting, trying to catch their breath. Akechi's head came to rest on Akira's trembling shoulder. Another tear fell from his eye, and Akira raised his hand to wipe it away, at which Akechi blushed furiously.

“Are you okay?” Akira asked.

“Define 'okay.'”

“For the standard of, uh, what we just revisited. I know how much harder it is on you than me.”

“I don't know – I have to admit, that _was_ enjoyable, and I think I understand... _most_ of why the other night happened, but...it doesn't erase my own side of it. I think I'd still rather never think of it again. Still, you're quite the storyteller...” Akechi shuddered as he tried to calm his racing heart, and brought his cum-covered hand up to rest on Akira's chest.

“It's okay. I'm glad I could share my own side of it with you. I'm glad it could ease the pain even a little – that's all I could hope for; I won't drag you through that story again.” A chill, followed by warmth, radiated through Akira's body, radiating from the spot where Akechi's hand rested – until just a brief moment later, Akechi pulled it away and began licking it clean with an amused, ponderous look, and asked –

“What if I want you to someday?”

Akira's heart skipped a beat and he raised his head with a quiet gasp. _Ever full of surprises._ He looked over Akechi's mischievous, troubled, yet _peaceful_ face, hesitant to answer, but he had to –

“I'll think about it. I'd love to, but I worry...I don't want it to do more harm than good.” He wrapped his arm around Akechi's back, letting his hand rest on his shoulder, and pulled him closer. “If you're going to torment yourself with that memory, I don't want to reward you for it, but if it will truly help you get past your guilt, then I'll be happy to talk you through it.”

“Well, it's only a possibility, anyway. Like I said, I probably won't. I can't pretend that wasn't intense...it's hard for me to say how I feel about it. All I know for sure is it was better than...” Akechi trailed off, unable to find words for the depths of shame and horror and grief he felt on that day and its aftermath. He shrunk in on himself, and tears began to silently roll down his face again, only to be stopped almost instantly when he felt Akira's lips meet his forehead.

“Shhh, you don't have to dwell on it anymore. It's just a memory now. I'm here. I'm safe. _I love you_.”

Akechi's body softened again and he sunk deeper into Akira's arms as his soft voice reached his ears, and he let out a deep, satisfied sigh. “Thank you...I'm glad I met you.”

“So am I.” Akira closed his eyes and leaned into Akechi, stroking his hair. When he opened his eyes again moments later, he realized the bright sunlit glow they started with had grown dimmer and gold. The warmth was restored to the room – and Akechi, his bare skin and hair illuminated like this as he all but fell asleep on Akira's shoulder, looked so warm and peaceful it brought tears to Akira's eyes.

But the change in the sunlight did more than just change the atmosphere; it was the first thing that alerted Akira to the passage of time.

“Hey...is it okay if I go get us something to clean up with?” he asked, tracing Akechi's cheek with his finger.

“Hm?” Akechi lifted his head and opened his eyes, and noticed the shift in the atmosphere himself, and realized that he felt safer and warmer himself than he had in two days, even as his mind still ran wild with clashing emotions as he tried to reconcile tonight's experience with his own memory. “Of course – go ahead.”

Akira nodded and stood up, his legs still feeling weak after the intensity of the session, and let his pants fall to the floor, fixed his underwear, and headed off to the bathroom. A few minutes later, Akechi heard a _ding_ , and Akira returned with a few damp hand towels – and two blankets, and two mugs of hot cocoa topped with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles, all of which he placed on the coffee table in front of them. A shiver ran down Akechi's spine as Akira took his arm and gently wiped it clean, then draped one of the blankets over his shoulders and offered him one of the mugs of cocoa.

“What's all this for?” Akechi asked.

“Thought it'd be nice to just sit here and relax together for a while. What, you don't want it? More for me, then,” Akira teased, playfully threatening to take the cocoa away, to which Akechi responded by snatching the mug away and leaving a dab of whipped cream on Akira's nose. Akira just laughed in response as he took his seat back on the couch – “Yeah, that's what I thought.”

Akechi watched from behind his mug of cocoa, hoping it was enough to hide his blush, as Akira wiped his body clean and draped the second blanket over his own shoulders – conspicuously, without wiping off his face. In fact, it seemed he may have gotten _more_ cream on himself with his first sip from his own mug – so it came as little surprise to Akechi when the moment he set his mug back on the table, Akira swooped in and planted a kiss on his lips, getting the cream on his face too in the process.

“You...are impossible,” Akechi sighed, shaking his head as he wiped his face clean. “I thought you left to get us something to _clean up_ with.”

“Isn't that why you love me? And besides, I _did_ bring the towels, didn't I?” Akira teased, and Akechi knew he had no retort for that; indeed, the towels _were_ here – and indeed, Akira's habit of living up to his codename when things seemed too heavy to bear was one of the things that endeared him to him. He never said as much, and probably never would, simply because he didn't need to – Akira understood _exactly_ what he meant with his lack of response.

The room fell silent again as the two finished their cocoa – no longer the tense, stinging silence of questions left unasked, but the warm silence of _home_ , where no words needed to be exchanged for each other's presence to be a comfort. As they set their mugs down, they each began to notice that their eyelids felt heavy. Still without a word, the next thing they knew they were laying down together on the couch, with both blankets draped over both of them as they lay together, bare skin pressed against bare skin, with Akechi's head resting on Akira's chest to let him listen to his heartbeat–

A reminder that sure enough, after all they'd been through, the story was true; despite their harrowing experience, Akira was alive and well, and for whatever reason, truly did feel _safe_ here with Akechi, no matter how ill-advised Akechi may have thought that feeling was.

Perhaps, Akechi thought as he drifted off, it was time to stop questioning it – however ill-advised it was, it was as real as this heartbeat, and no amount of questioning could take away how grateful he was for it.


End file.
